Scenes Unseen
by MsWriterTee
Summary: A collection of Richonne-centric one shots from various episodes of The Walking Dead. Scenes we didn't get that I think maybe we should have. They won't be in any specific order from the seasons, just posted as they come to me.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This scene is from Season 5 - Episode 13, after the gathering at Deanna's house.**

* * *

Michonne stood inside the entrance of the gazebo staring at the star-lit night sky while crickets crooned their mating song. It was neither too cool nor too warm and there was no breeze to be found. Everything was still. It was a beautiful spring night. Still, beautiful, and a little noisy. Somewhat like her life at the moment.

Just days ago, she didn't get the same appreciation of nights like this. The chirp of crickets, the twinkling stars, and brightness of the moon. Then, every moment was spent outside. If she and her companions were lucky, they'd find a shack or a group of cars to sleep in, but that didn't happen often. Now, they were in homes with luxuries she never expected to enjoy again. But she wasn't home right now, because Rick was there, in the house they shared, and she couldn't face him.

She sighed and moseyed back over to the nearest of the two benches inside the wooden structure. If felt stupid feeling this way. Outside of Carl, there was no one she was closer to than Rick, but there was a stark difference in her feelings for father and son. Carl had her heart and Rick had stolen…

Feelings? Was she confusing things? Seeing something that wasn't there? Did it matter?

Michonne rolled her eyes. If it didn't matter she wouldn't have spent the last hour in this gazebo, beautiful night be damned. This night wasn't more beautiful than Rick's blue eyes.

_Ugh__._ Michonne groaned into her hands. Why was she doing this to herself? She and Rick were friends. So why did it bother her to see him talking to that blonde at the party? Deanna's gathering wasn't something she had wanted to attend, but their hostess didn't give them a choice, which led Michonne to the community closet to find a dress. If she was going to a party, she would wear a dress.

She tugged on the hem of the gray frock that stopped just above her knees. It wasn't really her style, but it was her size, and it had been far too long since she'd worn a dress. Her initial discomfort after getting ready surprised her and prompted her to make up an excuse for Rick to leave with Carl and Judith without her. Before the world changed, she used to love dressing up. Going out on the town with Mike, hanging out with friends. But normal was different now. Normal was feeling butterflies in her stomach at the thought of Rick's reaction at seeing her in a dress, while at the same time feeling absolute comfort in his presence.

Even with 1that, she and Rick had no interaction at the party. She spent most of the night being regaled by an inebriated Abraham. The burly redhead was funny, and amazingly insightful in his buzzed state, sharing his thoughts on the turn of their fortunes.

While Michonne saw nothing but benefits in joining Aaron's community, Rick had been hesitant, but he relented. Of late, he'd been doing that a lot for her. Making an effort to acclimate to their new surroundings, and agreeing when Deanna asked them to be constables. Coming here hadn't been a mistake, but maybe something besides having secure walls and a roof over their heads suddenly made being here a good idea for Rick. Perhaps something that had nothing to do with her, and if she was honest, that bothered her.

According to Maggie and Glenn, whose house she left before hiding out in the gazebo, the blonde was the wife of the community doctor. After the rumblings she'd heard about Lori and Rick's friend, Shane, Michonne couldn't understand Rick's preoccupation with the married woman. But she didn't have to understand. He was a single man, a handsome man, and free to do whatever he wanted. Being here was hard for Rick, he was trying, but his struggle was real. She could see that. Michonne sighed. If this woman could be of help, how could she be troubled by it? Yes, she was attracted to Rick, but she knew some things were bigger than attraction.

Michonne stood from the bench. Rick's happiness, his feeling of security for himself and his children mattered to her. They shared a home, a life, and they were great friends. Enough avoiding him. Two hours after the gathering ended, she was finally going home.

* * *

Rick checked his watch. Eleven o'clock. His gaze shifted to the door. Where was she? He dragged his hands over his face, sighing. There weren't many options to choose from, but one in particular nagged away at him.

Bounding from the sofa, he pushed aside the door shade and peeked outside. Stars blanketed the sky, bathing the quiet community in a soft glow. It was a beautiful, clear night. A romantic night.

The scene he couldn't shake from the party he didn't want to attend grew more vivid in the forefront of Rick's mind. Michonne in discussion with Abraham on Deanna's porch. The laughter, the ease, the dress that clung to her body. He'd never seen Michonne in a dress before. He'd barely got a glimpse of her in that one, but Abraham did.

_What the hell else did Abraham get a glimpse of?_

Rick admonished himself with a swear. Why would he think that? He and Michonne were friends. Michonne and Abraham were friends. There was no reason to assume anything other than friendly discussion had taken place, and Abraham was involved with Rosita.

_Shit!_

Rick started pacing. It was his own fault he was so twisted in knots. His head wasn't right. It was why Michonne had been laughing with Abraham tonight at that party while he was chatting with a stranger, a hapless housewife with a needy gene he had the ability to sniff out like a bloodhound and always thrust him into savior mode. Something he wasn't able to be for Lori.

Michonne didn't need him to save her. She never did. She allowed him to breathe while simultaneously taking his breath away. Those eyes, lips, and flowing locs that framed her pretty face. She was a stunning woman in more ways than one. There was an intensity about her, but there was unmistakable softness. Fierceness, yet vulnerability. There was strength, determination, and caring that she displayed even on that first day. When she walked up to the prison, injured and not knowing what she'd find, but doing so because a child needed formula. In that moment, he knew she was someone special. She'd been caring for and protecting both Carl and Judith since, and she'd saved his life countless times.

He was in awe of her and he cared deeply for her. Being here hadn't changed that, nor did these renewed thoughts of Lori. It was because of Michonne's insistence that they were even here. No one else would've stood up to him, but she did. And like always, she was right. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

Rick stood before the fireplace, staring at her sword on the mantle. She'd placed it there this morning, out of Judith's reach, and mentioned she'd get some nails and hang it on the wall. She said she didn't need to carry it here. That this place was different. A lot was different.

Maybe it was hopeful wishing, but there were times that he felt they were both aware of something stronger than friendship between them. Quiet moments they shared when nothing was said, but everything was spoken. Like when he showed her his face after shaving his thick, bushy beard. He was actually counting the twenty minutes and sixteen seconds it took before she emerged from the bathroom. He kinda felt like a groom waiting for his bride, but strangely in his scenario, he was the bride. He wanted her to be pleased with what she saw. Like he always was with her.

"Rick?"

He turned with a jolt at the sound of Michonne's voice. He hadn't heard her come in. "Hey," he said, thoroughly relieved she was home and her cute dress didn't look wrinkled.

"Were you waiting up for me?"

_Hell yeah! _ "I wanted to ask what you thought of the festivities," Rick said, returning to the sofa. "You were still in your room getting dressed when you told me I should leave without you, and we didn't get a chance to talk there."

"You were busy with others."

Rick winced. Conversations with the housewife. She made him think of Lori. It didn't make sense. The woman didn't physically look like Lori, but she reminded him of Lori, of the things he was unable to finish with her. "Michonne, I…" What could he say? She wasn't lying, and he couldn't explain what he didn't understand. Why he spent time with that woman when Michonne was always on his mind.

"I thought the party was strange," Michonne said after prolonged quiet. "Alcohol, food, mindless chit-chat in the world we live in now. I would've been happier hanging out here with Carl and Judith."

Rick felt the same, but… "You seemed to be having fun with Abraham," he said.

Michonne blinked. "What?"

"On the porch, you two were talking, laughing."

"Being here and this party has brought some changes for all of us. Seeing people we've spent so much time with in a different light, being around new people. I - I discovered beer makes Abraham philosophical. I got to see another side of him. He was funny. Why didn't you join us?" She snapped her fingers. "Oh, yeah, you were otherwise engaged."

"The party ended hours ago." Rick tilted his head. "Did you and Abraham share more laughs or...?" If he'd wanted to stop those words before they went there, Rick doubted he could have. They'd been weighing on him for hours. The look on Michonne's face left no doubt that she had picked up on the jealousy he couldn't hide and had no right to feel. A part of him was disappointed in himself, but a bigger part wanted an answer to that question. Seeing them together on that porch bothered him so much, he planted an awkward kiss on that stranger's cheek. What the hell? He wasn't even attracted to that woman.

Several seconds of quiet passed with Michonne staring curiously at him. A shake of a head was followed with an incredulous laugh. "There were more laughs, but with Glenn and Maggie."

Now he felt like a heel. "Look, I…"

She held out her hand, halting his words. "Because it's such a lovely night out, when I left their house, I took a walk and spent time at the gazebo." Michonne sighed, scratching her fingers through her locs. "Rick, I know you've been struggling with things since we got here, but this is a good place, we have jobs now, and you-you seem to be finding your way. I want that for you. I do."

"Things aren't always how they look, but I know what I'm trying to do. I'm tryin'."

"Me, too. I put on this dress and went to that party."

Rick smiled, nodding. "And you look real pretty tonight, Michonne." He always appreciated her amazing body, but she also had the most beautiful, long legs. "The first time I've seen you in a dress."

"We've uh, we've had a couple of firsts since we got here. Me seeing you without the beard, you seeing me in a dress."

"Our firsts." Rick wondered what other firsts they could share together in this house. His breaths deepened. Their eyes stayed locked. The quiet that said so much returned.

Michonne cleared her throat, breaking the moment. "Goodnight, Rick," she said with a smile.

"Goodnight, Michonne."


	2. Chapter 2Clear

**Author's Note: This is my idea of a missing scene from Clear. I always wondered how Rick noticed Michonne's cat, and from the moment Richonne met, there was chemistry, a connection, and I felt the need to expound on that...just a bit. With that said, this is the unseen scene from Clear.**

* * *

Michonne set her newest possession on the shelf by her bunk beds. The splashes of color were just what the drab little space needed. She wasn't complaining. It was good to have a roof over her head. Truth be told, this was quickly starting to feel like home. Maybe that's why she was beginning to decorate, if only piece by piece.

The Governor's ambush the day before yesterday had riddled the overturned bus she'd been staying in with bullet holes, returning her to the inner walls of the prison Rick and his group called home, and led to her artistic find this afternoon. Andrea's visit the day after the attack was a surprise, but her friend's stick in the ass behavior was not. One glance at "Phillip" and Andrea was a goner, but that one glance was also enough for Michonne to see the Governor was dangerous and crazy. Her first impression of Rick was quite the opposite. One look at him and she saw humanity. A man in pain, but one who felt things, good and bad, in totality, and she also saw the most amazing blue eyes. No, Rick was nothing like the Governor.

Andrea spoke of a desire for peace, but she wasn't operating with all of the facts. Governor shooting up the prison and barreling through the gates with walkers just one of many she didn't have. Andrea's surprise at what this man was capable of left Michonne astounded. She couldn't muster an ounce of sympathy for her friend's hurt and disappointment while disclosing being targeted for death by Merle at the behest of the Governor, and that Andrea would've gotten the same if she had left with Michonne. Andrea departed believing she could broker peace between them and Phillip, but Rick wanted to be prepared, so he asked Michonne to join him and his ten-year-old son, Carl, on a gun run to his hometown, King County, where he'd worked as a sheriff.

On top of being a way to keep distance between her and Merle, who she still wanted to slice with her katana even after he and Daryl came charging in to help during the ambush, the run was like an audition. Michonne knew that. Rick and Carl had been wary of her. She had been the same about them. Although Andrea had shared stories about her group, and Michonne got mostly a good feeling about them even before realizing they were Andrea's group, being able to put a few faces to names didn't mean much. They'd only known each other five days, about half she'd spent asleep recovering from a gunshot wound and mild concussion, and even being around them all day, and not getting the uneasy vibe the Governor gave her, strangers were strangers. It was a sensible response to be cautious, which is why she'd decided to move to the bus the second she felt a little better. Like them, Michonne watched. From a distance, you could see things clearer. Dividing her time between the bus and the prison, assisting where she could while trying to stay out the way, helped solidify her opinion that this was a good group. Battered, but good. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't like what today showed her of the Grimes men.

Getting the car stuck in the mud after she passed a hitchhiker on the road and them finding the weapons locker empty at the sheriff's office where Rick had worked had started things on rocky footing. However, being shot at by a guy, who turned out to be someone who had once saved Rick's life, did mark the first sway of change. They were getting quite good at fighting for their lives together. Agreeing to go on a crib run with Carl while Rick stayed with their almost assassin, Morgan, who had amassed quite a cache of the weapons and ammo they needed, afforded Michonne the opportunity for a connection between her and the youngster.

Carl's altruistic decision to scavenge a crib for his newborn baby sister was made with ulterior motives. When trying to ditch Michonne on the run, which she wasn't having, he confessed what he really wanted was a family picture from a nearby diner. The last picture of his mother. Not willing to have the boy put himself in danger, Michonne put her foot down and explained how they would get the picture with him following her lead. She recognized his grief and his independent streak, knew both needed to be refocused, and Carl responded to that. After near misses with walkers, she was able to retrieve the picture and find her new decoration. She had proudly showed off the colorful papier-mâché cat to her young companion. It was gorgeous, and she loved cats.

An appreciative Carl thanked her for getting the framed photo. He thought Judith should know what their mom looked like. And like that, their shared adventure changed things with them. They went on to find a playpen for Judith, along with some outfits, diapers, and other newborn necessities. They'd bonded. Carl was an amazing boy. He made her miss her little Andre, but at the same time he soothed the hurt she felt at losing her little peanut. She thought she'd done the same for Carl at losing his mother.

Rick was already waiting when she and Carl arrived at the boobie trapped walker-catcher of an obstacle course Morgan had made of the street. There was a bloody wound to Rick's shoulder that he said wasn't a big deal, but Michonne knew Morgan wasn't all there mentally, hardly anyone was these days, and Rick admitted the man was not okay. As they packed everything into the car, Rick suddenly looked off into the distance. Michonne had seen him do that before, she'd done it herself. It provided a moment for her to ask him what he saw. She confessed that she knew he saw things, people, and that she used to talk to her dead boyfriend. That it happens. She didn't have to say anything, but she felt the need. To let him know what he was going through wasn't unusual. For her, it was all too familiar. She was probably the only one who knew he wasn't screaming at the group who had wanted to stay at the prison, but whoever he was he'd been seeing, likely his dead wife. Rick asked if she wanted to drive back, and she agreed. When he quipped that was good because he saw things, she couldn't help smiling from his attempt at humor. After a rocky start, she had made progress with both father and son.

Unfortunately, the hitchhiker they'd passed earlier had an even rockier day. On the ride back, they'd encountered fresh innards and the man's stuffed orange backpack on the road. Rick asked her to stop, and Carl picked up the backpack and brought it into the car. She had no problem with stopping. It wasn't like the contents, mostly canned goods and camping equipment, could do the hitchhiker any good. It might be a little morbid, but this was life in this new world they were living in. It was about surviving, and why they couldn't stop when the stranger asked them when they first passed. Michonne found it ironic that she was surviving at a prison, free, while Andrea was in a veritable town at Woodbury, but locked up and unaware.

"Hey."

Michonne looked up to see Rick standing outside the entrance to her room. She couldn't call it a cell, because while it was a prison, they were all there willingly and kept the doors opened and covered with a makeshift curtain. "Is something wrong?" she asked, standing. "Was there a breach or…"

"No, no." He shook his head. "I just, uhm, I came by to thank you for everything you did today. Carl mentioned how you helped him get the picture."

"It was nothing." She returned to the bed. "I was glad to help. Besides, I got something out of it, too." She picked up the cat, admiring its beauty from the remnants of sunlight left of the spring day.

"That's a colorful cat," Rick said with a smile.

"It is. It's cheerful and pretty." She sighed, feeling a little wistful. "I miss pretty things."

"You don't have to, you…" Rick cleared his throat. "You have your cat now." He sighed. "Thank you, again, for drivin' and everything."

"You're welcome, Rick. I was happy to do it." She studied him closely. He seemed a little off. As off as she could determine from the short time she'd known him. There was something familiar about him. Maybe because, in a strange way, she saw a lot of herself in him. The pain, the loss, the willingness to do the tough things that needed to be done. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He scratched his finger through his curly hair. "Just uh, a little tired, I think. It's been a long day."

"It has," she agreed. "Your shoulder? How's it feeling?"

"Fine." He touched the ripped, bloody spot on his shirt. "It was a scratch."

"Morgan stabbed you, it was more than a scratch."

"Still, it's fine. I hardly feel it. How 'bout you? You were beaten and shot in the leg just a few days ago."

"The gunshot was a graze and I'm practically a hundred percent." Andrea pointing a gun at her hurt more than anything Merle or the Governor could've done. The man had weaved a spell on her friend, and Michonne feared this relationship wouldn't end well for Andrea. All she could do now was hope for the best. "I'm good."

"You do look like you feel better. I'm-I'm sorry about how I was with you at first. How..."

"You were concerned about your people. I didn't like your behavior, but you were being a good leader. I got that. It's why I showed you to Woodbury."

"That's not the only reason you showed me to Woodbury. You could've gotten yourself killed." Annoyance flashed in bright blue orbs. "The Governor almost did that."

"He's almost killed all of us, but I still have two eyes, and I'm here, with my new cat."

"Right." Just as quickly as the annoyance appeared it disappeared. "So pretty."

"Yes, it is." She returned the sculpture to the shelf, and then thought of what he said after hearing his delayed sharp hiss. Was he talking about the cat being pretty or her? Wait. Why was she questioning that? He was a grieving widower. A handsome grieving widower whom she shared a dynamic intensity that had all sorts of layers, most of them combative, but… No buts. This had been a long day and they were both tired after finding guns and some understanding, that was all. "Well, goodnight, Rick," she said, feeling the need to get some rest. Rest they both clearly needed.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Goodnight, Michonne."

Rick stepped out of the room and pulled the curtain closed. Several seconds later, a breath Michonne didn't realize she was holding found release when she heard Rick mumble something under his breath and walk away. Maybe she wasn't just tired. It seemed there might be another layer to their already complex dynamic at play. One neither she nor he was in any position to recognize right now for many reasons. The dangerous threat the Governor and his people posed the biggest of all.

* * *

Rick covered his face, groaning. What was that? _So pretty. _ Thinking it was one thing, but saying it out loud? It was grief. What else could it be? Seeing things that weren't there, speaking thoughts aloud. Michonne was pretty, but he shouldn't have said it. Lori had just died. He shouldn't have noticed Michonne being pretty. Maybe, just maybe, she would think he was talking about the cat. She thought that brightly colored kitty was pretty. Her smile conveyed her feelings. That thing meant the world to her. In this world, it was one of the few possessions she had, and she clearly treasured it. Much like he treasured his children. He knew Judith wasn't his biologically, but the baby girl was his now. And Carl. He let Carl go off with a woman who carried a sword, and he didn't worry about him. He'd trusted her with what he treasured most.

Michonne had lost someone, too. Rick had appreciated her words of understanding. It made him feel less crazy, and she didn't look at him with pity like everyone else did. He'd loved Lori, but they had so many problems. Before they could work them through, or really try, she was gone. The guilt and grief had consumed him. Took him as far to being over the edge as one could go. He was teetering there for a bit. Still was in some ways. But Michonne. There was something about this woman. Not just that she was pretty and had a bodacious body, that was obvious and his eyes had drifted to her backside more than once, but something more. Something he felt from the moment he saw her, aside from thinking he was hallucinating a blood covered woman with flowing dreadlocks, a sword strapped to her back, and a shopping basket filled with baby formula.

Unlike Lori, Michonne wasn't a hallucination. He saw himself in her eyes. The fear, the intensity, the danger, the unwavering knowledge that he would do whatever to survive and keep those he loved safe. It was what made him wary of her. Wary, appreciative, and intrigued. The way she took out the screaming guy in cabin without a thought spoke volumes. She challenged him in so many ways. She didn't back down from him, and, yet, she saw him. And he saw her, and that's why, despite the wariness, he trusted her with Carl. Her presence gave him comfort, lifted a burden, and made him confused. Rick turned to the curtain and then glanced at his wedding ring. What was he feeling? "What is this?" he mumbled.

There was no time to give it thought. They had a very likely battle ahead for their home and their lives. For now, there was nothing else to think about.


End file.
